The scream that ripped from Caleb’s throat did not sound like the voice of an Alpha. It was a wet, choked gurgle, the sound of a dying beast clawing at its own throat as it drowned in its own blood.
He bolted upright on the damp dirt floor of Maeve’s hut, his spine snapping backward with a sickening crack. Black, viscous blood sprayed from his mouth and nostrils, splattering across the rotten wooden table and the gold coins he had traded for his own destruction. His hands clawed frantically at his chest, ripping through his shirt, digging his nails deep into his own flesh until silver-lined scratches wept red down his ribs.
Inside his mind, there was only silence. A cold, barren, terrifying silence.
His wolf—the golden, proud beast that had defined his strength, his speed, his very righ
